


five times she caused a stir

by zombeesknees



Category: Tangled (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 17:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17268011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombeesknees/pseuds/zombeesknees
Summary: Rapunzel isn't your usual sort of princess. | Written many moons ago on LJ.





	five times she caused a stir

*****

It was the night of the Sunflower Ball — the first official ball since the King and Queen had been reunited with their daughter — and the Princess was late. 

This wasn’t exactly unexpected or unprecedented. And it wasn’t that Princess Rapunzel was purposefully tardy to important events, or that she liked to make grand entrances. 

Some of the blame must, inevitably, fall on her future consort, who had always been notoriously bad at keeping his appointments (though, to be fair, most of his past appointments had been for trials and executions, and who would be punctual for _those_?). The rest of the blame had to rest upon her upbringing; it wasn’t as if she had ever had to worry about schedules or clocks before leaving that tower, and so time was just something she forgot about. 

None of the court dared be offended, though, and even the most curmudgeonly of the nobles was determined to be patient. It was Princess Rapunzel, and being cross with her would be tantamount to kicking a small puppy. Not even Lord Brutus, an infamously bad-tempered fellow who had once punted his wife’s lapdog over a trestle table when the canine refused to stop barking the day he had a terribly painful toothache, would be impatient with his Princess.

Nearly an hour after the ball was scheduled to begin, Princess Rapunzel and Prince-in-Waiting Eugene burst into the ballroom, breathless and sheepish. She patted self-consciously at her dress, as if to assure herself that it was properly laced and buttoned, and tried to brush the flyaway strands of hair behind her ears. Eugene adjusted the formal red sash across his jacket before reaching over to straighten his betrothed’s crooked crown.

“I apologize, I’m so very sorry,” Rapunzel said quickly, hurrying towards the dais and her waiting parents. “We were exploring the battlements and just completely lost track of time, I’m so sorry.”

Her father simply nodded at the orchestra with a smile, which immediately began a graceful waltz, while her mother stepped down to hug her and brush a smudge of dirt from her cheek. 

“Pardon me, your Highness,” the Lady Somerset said with dignified aplomb, a pair of opera-style glasses held up to her face. “It seems you’ve forgotten something.”

“Something else?” Rapunzel asked, alarmed. “Oh, um, what did I forget? I wasn’t supposed to speak to anyone in particular, was I? Was I supposed to give a speech?”

“I was referring to your shoes, Princess. Or rather your _lack_ of shoes,” the old woman said with a thin-lipped smile.

“I don’t really care for them,” Rapunzel said with her own smile, which was easily twenty times brighter and more genuine. 

“Don’t care for them?” the Lady demanded, eyes wide. 

“Nope!” 

“Goodness!” said Lady Somerset, drifting away regally, pausing by a group of similarly sophisticated elderly dowagers and conferring with them in a brisk, birdlike manner. Within the hour everyone at the ball was discussing the Princess’ most unconventional dressing habits; and several of the younger ladies had joyfully kicked off their pinching, high-heeled pumps.

“You’d better watch it,” Eugene had murmured playfully. “You’ll start a new fad.”

By the end of the month, the kingdom’s shoemakers were disconsolate and prone to fits of melancholy—many began looking into the possibility of shipping their wares off to the adjoining kingdom, where at least they’d be worn and admired properly.

****

It was fast approaching fall, and Pascal was worried. The little chameleon barely touched the fruit he was offered, and he’d gone a pale and sickly green.

“Come on, Pascal,” Rapunzel urged earnestly. “You _love_ oranges!”

But the lizard only sighed and turned away, looking out the window wistfully. 

“Alright, mister, either you start eating or tell me what’s going on,” the Princess ordered in her very best regal tone. Pascal fixed her with a sad pair of eyes and scampered to the end of the table in reply, urging her to follow with a twitch of his head.

Eugene found her in the garden twenty minutes later, hunched under a bush on her hands and knees, talking animatedly at a very somber gecko.

“Uh, Rapunzel?” he asked as he crouched down, resting a warm hand on her back. “Whatcha doing?”

“Oh, Eugene, it’s just terrible!” she said, brow furrowed and lips pouted. “You know how Louis the gardener dug up the whole east corner for the new rose bushes? It seems he completely destroyed the gecko family’s house. The whole family is going to have to move away now, and Pascal’s gotten to be such good friends with them.”

“Well, that _is_ a sad story,” he said sympathetically with a serious nod. “Maybe they can move close by, so Pascal can still visit?”

“Actually,” Rapunzel said slowly with a dawning glow of realization. “I’ve just had a wonderful idea! Can you go get me the wheelbarrow out of the shed?”

The Queen was sitting in her parlor with her needlepoint, enjoying the breeze that wafted in through the opened window. She was embroidering the edge of a bedsheet as part of her daughter’s wedding trousseau, picking out tiny suns and purple flowers in vibrant silk thread. _Technically_ , this was something Rapunzel should be doing—and she had shown enough skill with needle and thread to make a rather stunning trousseau. But the Queen was indulging herself, and she found the work soothing. After spending so many years grieving for her lost daughter, it was a joy to add her own touch to Rapunzel’s future happiness. 

She was just finishing the edges of the last sunray when she became aware of a loud squeaking sound. Intrigued, she set aside her work and stepped over to the door, her long skirts rustling softly. She peered out through the crack just in time to see her daughter hurry past, pushing a squeaking wheelbarrow full of dirt and ferns down the marble corridor.

The Queen hesitated, her mouth opening and then closing slowly. Did she dare…? She finally smiled with a slight shake of her head and closed the door. She was beginning to expect unusual things from her Princess, and at least the trouble caused was innocent and entertaining. 

“Something tells me you may not have thought this entirely through,” Eugene hissed, chasing after her, lugging a large bucket full of rocks. 

“No one _ever_ uses the south corner chambers,” Rapunzel said, turning sharply with a squeak of wheels, leaving a muddy skid mark on the polished floor. “It’ll be warmer than outside, with autumn coming, and this way Pascal can visit every day!”

Eugene dropped the heavy bucket just inside the doorway as Rapunzel continued determinedly to the washroom, pushing the wheelbarrow straight to the huge claw-footed tub. “Just let the record show that this was _your_ idea, not mine,” he said firmly as she struggled to tip the dirt and ferns into the tub. “Here, lemme help…”

“I tried to get plenty of worms in there,” Rapunzel said, panting. “And there’s always spiders in the castle. And we can bring them fruit.”

They arranged the rocks into a cozy little cave, patted down the ferns’ roots, and stepped back to admire their handiwork. 

“Not bad,” Eugene said, hand at his chin. “Very rustic and charming—I hope the geckos don’t have high society tastes. ‘Course, if they do, we could always add a turret.”

“Now to just move them in!” Rapunzel said excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

The gecko family was most grateful for their new lodgings: they promptly set to exploring their chamber, dislodging several spiderwebs that had existed in the tallest corners for forty-two arachnid generations. Pascal’s color returned instantly, and he was eager to show off the castle’s more interesting nooks and crannies to his friends. It seemed the new living situation would be idyllic for everyone...

Until that night, when Helga the maid stepped into the room with her bucket of cleaning supplies and a pleasant bounce in her step, only to come running back out of it almost instantaneously, crying that the bathroom was infested with vermin and the bathtub was full of muck.

Rapunzel apologized profusely, and explained very earnestly, and in the end the gecko family stayed while Helga was assigned rooms in a _different_ wing of the castle.

***

The week before her nineteenth birthday, Rapunzel nearly, and quite unintentionally, gave the Dowager Duchess of Diamonds a heart attack when the old woman—who was helping the Queen plan for the birthday dinner—rushed into the banquet hall with a handful of place settings only to find Rapunzel dangling from the chandelier on a make-shift swing thirty feet above the floor.

The Dowager screamed and fainted rather operatically, and the unexpected dramatics startled Rapunzel so badly that she tangled herself up in her ropes. While the King and Chamberlain tried to rouse the senseless dowager with a hand fan and jar of smelling salts, Eugene had to dig out one of his old grappling lines and climb up to the chandelier to cut Rapunzel down. 

“Maybe next time you should use the swing in the gardens, dearest,” the Queen suggested weakly.

**

Maurice and Sofia were the royal chefs, and the vast kitchens of the castle were _their_ sovereign domain. The pair had become accustomed to unusual visits from the Princess—sometimes she would spring into the kitchens just after dawn, hungry for some honey rolls and eager to set off on the next adventure. Other days she would slip in during the pre-dinner bustle, when a dozen serving boys and girls were milling around bubbling pots and steaming ovens; she’d sample a little of everything and talk with the chefs about seasoning and the merits of hazelnut soup.

It seemed there wasn’t a single thing Rapunzel _wasn’t_ interested in: she wanted to know how to bake the perfect meringue, how to properly bone a fish, the tricks to pickling and preserving. Maurice and Sofia were more than happy to indulge her, and any well-intentioned mistakes or accidents were quickly forgiven. Sofia even went so far as to suggest the Princess sit in on a few classes at the Culinary Institute, and Rapunzel was quick to befriend most of the chefs-in-training and _all_ of the instructors.

On one particular night following an especially energetic class, the Princess invited everyone back to the castle for coffee and conversation. Maximus was on duty at the front gate when the group trooped up, and looked askance at several of the young men. _Officially_ , no one was to be admitted into the castle after dark without the express consent of the King or Queen, but this was Rapunzel, and she had fixed the four-legged Captain of the Guard with those huge, pleading green eyes that were impossible to resist. So Maximus snorted in exasperation and looked the other way as they walked past, disapproving but taking comfort in the knowledge that a basket of apples was sure to be on its way.

Two hours later, somewhere between cups of coffee and blueberry scones, a challenge was issued by one saucier-in-training to another. And then a pastry chef spoke up — then the girl who specialized in crystallized fruits — and suddenly Rapunzel found herself in the kitchens, trying to mediate arguments and helping her friends find the saucepans and ladles in their quest to prove their mettle. 

What had been a friendly discussion about family recipes, the best ingredient substitutions, and frying techniques had become an all-out war for culinary supremacy. Soon the counters were covered in flour, oil, and warm dishes; bread was cooling on the sidebar, and the ice closet was emptied of its hams and lamb and plucked chickens. The kitchen had become a very messy and delicious-smelling battlefield, and the casualties were the pantries and spice racks.

When the cinnamon and oregano had finally settled and the last cook had collapsed wearily into a chair, the aftermath was impressive and aromatic. Pies, cakes, roasted ducks, legs of lamb smothered in mint sauce, golden fried potatoes and large bowls of fruit salad… Plates of broiled fish and platters of boiled lobsters... Trays full of cookies and fruit tarts... And every fresh vegetable had been sautéed or spiced or sliced into beautiful florets. Entire cupboards had been emptied of their contents, and the results were nothing less than impressive.

When Maurice and Sofia walked in, all unsuspecting, they could only stand and gawk silently in shock. Rapunzel tried to soften the blow with a warm slice of apple pie and the promise of a clean kitchen by lunchtime. Her friends looked rather shamefaced now that the competitive zeal had left them, and a round of apologies went a long way in smoothing the royal chefs’ ruffled feathers.

“But look at the bright side,” Rapunzel said optimistically. “We can have a really nice party today and none of this will go to waste! I’ll get to work sending out emergency invitations right away.”

It was a satisfactory solution for the problem—at least until Vlad broke an heirloom chair when he sat down too heavily, and the Hook-Handed Pianist gestured a little too wildly and sent the Duke’s powdered wig flying through the air, and the tiny, red-cheeked man who incessantly hiccuped and forever smelled of wine tried to ‘be friendly’ to the Lady Somerset and earned a slap across the face. 

The day would be fondly remembered as a most interesting affair, and quite a lot of good came from the brouhaha: several of the attending nobles promptly offered positions to the Culinary Institute students, though those positions came with one condition—that they never again indulge in such friendly competitions.

*

“Eugene, I don’t think this is a great idea,” Rapunzel said.

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” Eugene wheedled, pulling at her hand. 

“I don’t think many people would consider sneaking into a meeting much of an adventure,” she said pointedly.

“Back in the days of Flynn Ryder, this would have been quite a lucrative business venture,” Eugene said. “You’d be _amazed_ at the amount of money certain people would pay for any ‘inside intel’ when it comes to political movers and shakers.”

“Eugene,” Rapunzel said in a warning tone. “You don’t have a notepad on you, by any chance?”

“What? No! Course not! …What if I just copy down the ridiculous things they say, for when you need a good laugh? Government hob-nobs are always saying ridiculous things. Anyway, Rapunzel, you said you wanted to know what the Arch-Chancellor’s been planning to do for the economy this year, right?”

“Right.”

“And the old goat keeps—no, don’t look at me like that, he’s at least 25% goat, have you ever looked at his eyes, and that _chin_?—saying that such meetings are beyond you and that you don’t need to worry yourself about such matters until you’ve been crowned Queen, blah blah blah hypocritical patronizing muck blah blah? Well, how else are you going to learn how this government stuff works in action unless you _see_ it in action, right? Hence, my master plan to spy on this afternoon’s budget meeting.”

Rapunzel muffled a giggle behind her hand. “Eugene, you can be so nice.”

“I have my moments,” he smiled, glancing around the room for a likely hiding place. “Here, behind the balcony curtains. Right next to the action, so you won’t miss a thing. Let’s make sure we’re comfortable before any one else arrives.”

It was funny, the way life could be. Flynn Ryder would never have hidden like this just to watch a few paunchy old men argue about fiscal responsibility and prudent expenditures; but it was important to Rapunzel, and so Eugene Fitzherbert was more than willing to suffer through a couple hours of yawn-inducing political babble if it made her happy. 

For about the billionth and eighth time Eugene had to marvel at the impossible girl he’d gone cuckoo over—plenty of guys thought having a princess for a fiancée would be a pretty sweet set-up (there was the wealth, the prestige, the great food, and the fact that you could brag to all of your drinking buddies that you’d managed to snag a bona fide _princess_ , just for starters), but how many of them would have thought a princess would be so damn curious about _everything_? Rapunzel was like a human-shaped sponge: always eager to absorb some new bit of knowledge. Every experience, every interaction, brought her so much joy that it was possible to get a contact high just by standing next to her. 

There were some quiet shuffling sounds in the room beyond the red curtain; clearly the council was gathering and settling in for the meeting. But Eugene was ignoring them—in truth, he’d pretty much forgotten why they’d slipped behind this curtain in the first place. His head was full of Rapunzel (but then again, when _wasn’t_ it?), and his heart was doing frankly embarrassing acrobatics in his chest. He knew why she was so desperate to learn everything. Why she spent so much time reading, and memorizing maps, and observing at the Culinary Institute, and discussing art with the museum curators, and kept begging the sailors to show her how to tie twenty-six different kinds of knots. He knew why she was so enthusiastic about learning different languages, and the names of all of the stars, and everything about the inner workings of her kingdom. 

There was a very good reason why Rapunzel had such a head for knowledge; why she was such a fast learner; why she could never get her fill of information.

Spending eighteen years locked in a tower with only a manipulative ‘mother’ and a chameleon for company, Rapunzel had been horribly starved for human contact. Completely cut off from the greater world full of such wonderful stories and knowledge. And now she was trying to make up for all of that by throwing herself headlong into every new experience and skill. She’d taught herself plenty while locked in that tower—he would certainly never best her at chess, and he still couldn’t figure out how she did that ventriloquist trick while drinking a glass of water—but there are some things that _can’t_ be self-taught. How to give public speeches or manage a kingdom, for starters. 

The light behind the curtain was a dusky pink. Her dark hair had been swept back with a jewel-studded headband; nothing obscured the pale and smooth lines of her face. Her cheeks were flushed, whether from the warmth of their hiding place or because of the illicitness of their spying, he couldn’t be sure. He only knew that she was breathtakingly stunning in her white dress... And that he frankly _loved_ the way it hugged her curves... And that the excited glitter in her eyes was doing rather unspeakable things to certain parts of his anatomy.

There were _plenty_ of things that couldn’t be self-taught, at least not _properly_ …

When his arm slipped around her waist she squeaked in surprise before she could stop herself. They both froze, sure they were about to be found out, but it seemed a Lord had just shifted loudly in his chair and the sound went unheeded. She turned toward him, a whisper on her lips, only to completely forget what she was about to say when she saw his expression. She smiled as her heart tripped into triple time and tilted her head for the inescapable kiss. She loved the way he held her, the firm but gentle pressure of his hands as they slid down her back, the way he smiled into their kisses as if he couldn’t control himself. For a slice of eternity there was nothing but lips and breath and hands and heartbeats.

“I say, old boy, isn’t it rather stuffy in here?” a brisk voice said. ( _Neither of them heard this, because she’d just pressed herself closer and he was having a hard time keeping himself from untying the laces of her dress._ )

“Here, Aberforth, I’ll crack a window.” Quick, decisive footsteps —

And suddenly the curtain was yanked back, revealing a most disheveled Princess and Consort-to-Be in a most compromising position. They sprang apart as if on springs, smoothing down their clothes and adopting the most innocent of expressions possible. The twenty old men simply stared, faces blank and eyes wide. 

“Apologies, fellows,” Eugene finally said, clearing his throat in a business-like manner. “The Princess and I were examining the seals on the windows—it’s been a bit drafty in this room, and the Queen thought loose windowpanes could have been the issue, and then, well, we lost track of time and _yes_ , we’ll just be leaving now, _thank you_. Best of luck with the rest of your meeting. Keep up the good work and all. Farewell.”

He grabbed Rapunzel’s hand and practically sprinted for the door. She wanted desperately to laugh, but her cheeks hurt far too much from blushing — and anyway the Arch-Chancellor wasn’t the type to appreciate such embarrassingly humorous spectacles.

He was, however, a man who greatly valued appearances and propriety. And as it would not do for the entire kingdom to know just how _freely_ the Princess carried on with her intended, he immediately swore the rest of the Council to silence. 

And the next time Princess Rapunzel asked for permission to sit in on a meeting, the Arch-Chancellor granted her request. The muscle at the corner of his eye twitched only slightly.


End file.
